We had learned how to prepare for them. Knowing that coming storms would bring them upon us, we would take the needed precautions. Barricading windows and doors. Staying inside. Waiting. The town left empty.

Still the tourists refused to listen. They scoffed and mocked us as “backwoods hicks.” They didn’t laugh long, though.

They’d get caught out after the rain. Eaten alive, their very meat ripped from warm bones. Screaming for help. Finally believing our wild stories. Wishing for salt.